


Real Good Feeling

by AgentSkyeMorse



Series: The Author Should Not Be Allowed Near Music! [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: College AU, F/F, I don't know what happened..., I really don't, Mentions of Underage Sex, Mentions of underage drinking, One minute I'm listening to Something Bad, Somethin Bad by Miranda Lambert feat Carrie Underwood, Sort of more like Allusions to underage sex than anything graphic, Then I have this on my computer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 19:07:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5176298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentSkyeMorse/pseuds/AgentSkyeMorse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She’s drunk, Skye’s drunk, she’s still in her wedding dress, there’s a ziplock bag full of mattress money in the van out front, and she’s kissing Skye.</i>
</p><p> <i>Skye is kissing her back.<i></i></i></p><p>
  <a href="https://www.google.com.au/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CB4Q3ywwAGoVChMI5IWKm5CLyQIVonSmCh0T9QEH&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Do4Yzj-m_SBk&usg=AFQjCNHYOxyZThMs2Ml2-WuAkTvs9a8G2A&sig2=JA9FgMInYxlUpjo50B-eHQ">Somethin Bad</a>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Real Good Feeling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stuffedpup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stuffedpup/gifts).



Bobbi was sitting in the car outside the church, nervously biting the nails of her right hand - even though she’d been expressly forbidden from so much as scratching her own nose for fear of messing up her pristinely applied make-up. The driver was looking at her funny; she was supposed to get out of the car ten minutes ago... Okay, twenty minutes ago.

Her mother had come out, asking if she was okay.

Izzy had come out.

Her father had come out.

Lance probably would have come out if he hadn’t been held in there in anticipation of her arrival.

She never came out because she had never gone in.

“I have to go.” Bobbi decided, jumping out of the backseat and running off, her white wedding dress billowing behind her as she ran. This had been a bad idea anyway? She was 19, what was she doing getting married? Sure she loved Lance, but did she marriage love him? Their relationship was a Taylor Swift song or screaming, fighting and making up.

She should have known someone would be watching through the window - though to be fair they’d always thought Lance would be the flight risk, not her - but she was still surprised when someone started calling her name as she ran.

“Bobbi.” It was Izzy that caught up to her. “Wh-”

“I can’t do it.” The blonde was nearly hyperventilating, the looming prospect of the wedding and the marriage and being Mrs. Lance Hunter making her vision spotty and her breaths short. “I can’t-I can’t do it.” She tore her arm out of Izzy’s grip before running again. Despite what the movies led her to believe, running in high heels and a wedding dress was not an easy thing to do; she fell over at least a dozen times in one block, her pretty white wedding dress was dirty and torn, her make-up was running from the trickle of her tears, smudging down her cheeks in shades of black and grey.

Bobbi looked every part the runaway bride that she was.

Who thought getting married at 19 was a good idea? They were both still in college, neither of them had more than a part time job, they didn’t even live together, they were constantly fighting. Who thought that her and Lance getting married was a good idea?

Skye had always said that she was stupid to keep money under her mattress, it was the first place someone would if they broke in. But, there was her lifes savings, sitting in a plastic ziplock bag under her mattress, crumpled notes of varying values shoved in and hidden away for an emergency.

Running away from her own wedding seemed like a good emergency.

“Hey.” Bobbi was still kneeling on the floor next to her bed in her torn and dirty wedding dress, smudged make-up and her ziplock savings when the voice spoke.

Not the English tones of Lance, or Izzy’s pity, or her parent’s disappointment.

“Thought you were leaving?” Bobbi didn’t turn to face the girl.

“Me too.” Skye admitted, moving over to sit on the bed that Bobbi was kneeling at. “I had a feeling.”

“Of what?” Cloudy blue eyes looked up to the brunette.

“Somethin’ bad about to happen.” Skye shrugged, reaching a hand out to brush some stray blonde hair from her face. “From the look of it I wasn’t wrong.”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t want this.” Bobbi let out a harsh laugh.

“I didn’t.” Skye insisted, she really hadn’t wanted this to happen. “I didn’t think you and Hunter were good for each other, but I wanted to be wrong. Just this once I wanted to be wrong.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes; people would be coming by looking for her soon, but Bobbi was content to sit on the floor and cry about her miserable excuse of a wedding with her best friend. As if on cue there was knock on the dorm room door, the voices of her family muffled by the heavy wood door.

Wide blue eyes darted up to dark brown, eyeliner and mascara smeared down her cheeks.

“Something bad’s about to happen, huh?” Bobbi questioned, how was she allowed to be the older one when she was the one falling apart?

“Depends what you think is bad.” Skye’s sombre look turned into a grin, she jumped off the bed and grabbed Bobbi’d hand, dragging her to her feet and heading for the window.

“The window, really?” Bobbi can’t help but question as Skye shoves the window up and ducks her head out.

“Other option’s the door.” The brunette tossed over her shoulder, climbing out - luckily they were on the ground floor.

“Window it is.” Bobbi decided, she could feel her dress catching as she climbed through the window, but it was already destroyed, what harm could a few more tears do?

Skye was already sitting in the drivers seat of her beat up old blue van - don’t diss the van - when Bobbi made it out - her family breaking through the door as she ran away from the window. The blonde didn’t need to look to know that the back of the van was stuffed with bags and boxes. Skye had been planning on leaving.

“Where we goin’, Runaway?” Skye leaned over from the drivers seat as she reached to open the passengers door.

“Anywhere.” It was kind of freeing, Bobbi decided, to be in the van with Skye with no plans or commitments. Maybe later - a few hours, maybe a day if she was lucky - it would finally sink in that she ran out on her wedding, on her family, on Lance. But, Skye turned the radio up, she kicked off her heels, and tossed her ziplock bag of mattress money onto the dash in front of her.

* * *

Bobbi remembers the first day she met Skye - was it really only a year ago? - when they were getting their dorm room assignments. Both in their Freshmen year at college, both full of wide-eyed anticipation for the next four years... Well, she is, Skye had been adamant that she’d be gone by then - a lifelong foster kid who seemed allergic to putting down roots.

Bobbi was 18 and working her way towards a doctorate in biochemistry. Skye had been 15 and in advanced placement for computer programming. Skye insisted that one day she was going to run away from the system, use her savings to buy a car or something, and use her computer skills to find her parents.

Their friendship had been slow at first - Skye didn’t want to make friends when she was just going to leave and Bobbi didn’t want to be stuck with the 15-year-old kid - but it had happened eventually. Long nights studying together, even if they weren’t studying the same things. Bobbi had shared her precious Cactus Cooler, Skye had shoved some red vines at her in response. Skye would do the laundry when she was over-run with homework, she’d wake Skye for her morning classes.

Skye would wake up in the night from nightmares, and Bobbi would hold her and swear that it wasn’t weird. She was comforting her friend, her roommate, when he lips lingered on her temple it was purely platonic.

Except when it wasn’t.

By the third month Skye had started confiding in her that she liked girls as much as she liked boys, Bobbi had stayed in Lance’s dorm that night. Not because she had anything against being gay or bi or anything else, but because Skye was 15, she was 18, and she was having weird feelings and hot flushes at the thought of Skye liking girls.

By the fourth month Bobbi had discovered after a laundry mishap that Skye wearing her clothes made her want to kiss the younger girl.

In the fifth month Lance proposed. A sweaty, panting, half-mumbled question after a few rounds of sex. She was 19, Skye was dating some creepy Miles guy that she couldn’t stand - she refused to read too much into that - Lance was her high school sweetheart who infuriated the fuck out of her. But, she loved him.

She said yes.

When Bobbi told Skye, the girl had gone silent. A quiet ‘oh’ after a few minutes and then a murmured congratulations.

Her parents and Lance’s parents had taken over the wedding arrangements, every time she talked to any of them, they had more plans, more ideas. Bobbi didn’t really have much of a choice when they said they’d figured out a date during the Summer that fit for everyone.

In the seventh month Bobbi told Skye the date that had been chosen for her and the girl just nodded. Three days later she’d come back to their dorm room with a set of keys, she’d spent her life savings - from working at a local diner during afternoons and weekends - on a dust-blue van with a dirty white top, she said it was time she put her plans into action. She’d be leaving during the Summer, she’d take her new van - that was probably older than she was - and what was left of her savings and set off in search of her parents.

Skye was leaving.

She was marrying Lance, and Skye was leaving. There had to be a correlation, but she tried not to linger on it. Because if she lingered she’d realise that marrying Lance wasn’t what she wanted.

In the eighth month Bobbi turned 19 and celebrated in true college fashion by getting black-out drunk. That night was still a fuzzy mess in her brain; flashes of dancing on bars, catcalls aimed in her direction, and a tattoo of Angel wings on her wrist, helped along by facebook pictures the teasing of people who had been there - and been less drunk - and the black ink now permanently on her arm.

She’d found a picture on her own phone - clearly self-taken from the angle of it - of her and Skye, their bodies pressed together in whatever club they’d been at with their fake I.D’s, their lips firmly against each other in an intimate kiss that Bobbi knew went far beyond her drunkenness.

The tenth month brought Skye’s 16th birthday, a wedding dress, a rehearsal dinner, and Skye said she wouldn’t be coming back for her second year of college.

* * *

“I probably shouldn’t be facilitating a minor’s drinking.” Bobbi hummed even as she slid a shot over to Skye. When they’d run out of gas they’d found themselves at a shady little bar where the bartender took one look at her dirty, torn wedding dress and didn’t even bother to check their I.D’s.

“Facilitating.” Skye snorted, downing her drink in one gulp then wincing and shaking her head at the taste and feel. “Since you’re buying, I’m pretty sure it’s more than facilitating.”

“Because that makes me feel so much better.” Bobbi rolled her eyes, in the right light Skye’s dark eyes and the shine of light on her face brought a flash of her birthday and the taste of her lips back to mind.

“What about this; technically I’m not a minor anymore because technically I don’t exist.” Skye tried with a shy smile, absently fingering the rim of her glass. “Figured if I was goin’ off-grid I’d go all out; deleted everything about me in every system I could find.”

“You were going to disappear? Just like that?” It could be the alcohol, or the failed wedding catching up, or maybe she really was that horrified at the thought of never seeing Skye again. Skye’s smile faded at her words, her gaze focussing far more intently on her glass than should ever be necessary.

“Told you, I didn’t have a place here anymore, better just to leave than have the teary goodbyes and promises to keep in touch when everyone knows those promises are broken the second we’re out of sight.” The young brunette reached for another drink, Bobbi’s eyes tracking every movement.

“Then why couldn’t you stay?” Bobbi is sick, she’s twisted, she’s evil. She knows exactly why Skye couldn’t stay. Because of intimate kisses on her birthday, sweet kisses when they weren’t drunk, whispered secrets, tender touches, and the answer yes to Lance’s proposal.

“You know why.” Skye threw another shot back with a full-body shudder before reaching for another. Bobbi takes another one as well.

She has a drink for her destroyed wedding dress, one for Lance who was left at the alter, one for her parents who were probably worried about her, one for Izzy, one for this, one for that... Sometime around the one for the taste of Skye’s lips she decides she actually wants to taste those lips again.

So she does.

She’s drunk, Skye’s drunk, she’s still in her wedding dress, there’s a ziplock bag full of mattress money in the van out front, and she’s kissing Skye.

Skye is kissing her back.

* * *

In the morning Bobbi doesn’t remember much from the tail end of the previous night. She remembers kisses and touches and breathy sighs. She remember moans and hands and declarations against naked skin.

This is bad! Bobbi decided, really bad. She’d run out on her wedding, left Lance, her parents, everyone behind without so much as a word on why. She’d run away with a minor, gotten drunk - with a minor - and had sex in the back of an old van - with a minor.

“Fuck! My head hurts.” A voice swore in her ear, sending a shooting pain through her skull.

“Shut. Up.” Bobbi groaned, making the naked body next to her groan as well.

“You shut up.” Skye shot back, Bobbi chanced cracking her eyes open.

“How much did we drink last night?” There was a tiny bit of light streaming back from the front of the van, but it was too much for the hungover blonde.

“Too much.” Skye whined, nuzzling her face into Bobbi’s neck. “Coffee. Big coffee.”

“You get it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Already did.” Bobbi can’t resist smirking, Skye huffs out a laugh against her skin before letting out another whine.

“Sleep. I’m too hungover to laugh.” That was something she could agree with, pulling Skye closer and letting her eyes fall shut again.

* * *

That afternoon they’re driving again - New Orleans, they’d decided after noting it was two thousand miles away, a good distance in Bobbi’s opinion - and they have coffee and crappy junk food to nurse their hangovers. They don’t talk about the sex.

They don’t talk about a lot of things.

They don’t talk about Lance or weddings - her dress is in the back of the van and she’s wearing some of Skye’s clothes for now - or going back to college, or what would happen if they’re caught. They don’t talk about 16 or 19, or skin that tastes like salt and sex.

They do talk about New Orleans, getting drunk at the next bar, and which of them dances better on bars.

When they stop in a small town with a busy bar they find out. Sometime around one AM when they’re still on the bar, dancing more for each other than any sort of crowd reactions - especially since the crowd is mostly gone - when Bobbi pulls Skye in for a kiss. And Skye tastes exactly like she remembers, vodka, salt, bar peanuts, and something vaguely sweet that must be all Skye.

The way Skye moans her name when they’re in the back of her van, struggling out of clothes with a kind of incoordination only drunk people possess, makes her brain cloudier than any alcohol ever could. The declarations from the previous night are repeated, the admissions and pleas and sweet nothings nothings are whispered into the dark night as they both fall into orgasms; first Bobbi and then Skye a few minutes later when Bobbi has recovered enough to return the favour.

* * *

 

They don’t talk about it in the morning.

Not the first morning. Not the second morning. Not the third morning that it happens.

When they reach New Orleans Skye is wide-eyed with wonder at a city she’s never seen, so full of culture and experiences. Bobbi doesn’t even spare her wedding dress - stuffed in a corner of the back of the van after having it stripped off on the first night on the road - as she jumps out of the van, grabs Skye’s hand and they race through the closest little shop in search of a shot glass. When they find a pair of glasses they pay with the mattress money and then take them back to the van to put them next to the other pairs of glasses in the back, mementos from the towns they’d been through on their way there.

Each glass a memory - mostly fuzzy from alcohol - of drinking, laughing, dancing on bars, kissing, touching, moaning and loving.

They still don’t talk about it.

That night they don’t drink at all, they don’t dance on any bars, there are no catcalls when they drive to a secluded spot just outside the city.

There are moans, there are kisses, there are promises of forever.

Bobbi’s got a real bad feeling something good is about to happen...

**Author's Note:**

> I seriously have no idea how this came about.


End file.
